Interruptions
by brighteyesindarktimes
Summary: Whenever something is about to happen, something always seems to get in the way for John. The same can be said for Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: Right so Post-Reichenbach. Important moments in John and Sherlock's lives are interrupted at the most inconvenient times.

Each chapter will switch off between John and Sherlock. May write like that the entire time. Eventually the rating will go up. Hopefully the chapters will get longer.

Reviews are welcome!

_**Nothing belongs to me! All goes to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and BBC. **_

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Three years.

Blurred by, like traveling along to a far way place. Staring out the window with your eyes glazed over. Staring but not seeing.

Three years.

John had three years to replay the moments of Sherlock's falling.

"Goodbye John."

Broken, bloody, gone.

His best friend.

John was a ghost of a man.

He barely spoke to Lestrade for the months after. Mycroft no longer registered in his thoughts, but he knew he was still paying the rent. He hadn't left Baker Street unless to get more food. Mrs. Hudson still fussed over him. Three months after Sherlock's death, she tried to put away his things into a storage but John broke down at the sight of Sherlock's test tubes in a cardboard box and screamed at her to get out and leave everything alone.

He didn't leave the couch for a week after that.

Sherlock's things were exactly where it was the day everything happened. Dust collected around it. But never on. John figured that that is was Mrs. Hudson's doing.

Sherlock's room hadn't been touched. Nobody bothered to go that way anymore. John slept on the couch anyways. The door remained closed until his year anniversary of his death.

John stood outside of the wooden barrier and rested his forehead against the slightly cool surface. The hallway was dimly lit and the moonlight shone throughout the flat. Raising a shaking hand, he grasped the handle and turned it slowly. A creak was heard downstairs and he paused. He had waited until Mrs. Hudson had left the flat to visit her sister, she had left hours before.

Unclenching his muscles, he turned the knob the fourth of the way left and pushed the door open.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Sherlock's POV. Switching from present tense to flashbacks for a while. **

**Nothing belongs to me!**

**Reviews are welcome! Enjoy.**

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Three years.

Sherlock was standing outside of 221B Baker Street staring a hole through the door. He traced a finger over the numbers and sighed.

Three years it took to take down Moriarty's web. All that time for John to move on and have a new life.

Last he heard from Mycroft two years ago...

_Was it two? Hmm, yes it was..._

John had apparently been seen going on dates with a women named Mary. How he hated her and the mention of her name.

_But I have no reason to hate her, yet I do..._

After that dull conversation, he hadn't spoken to his brother until three days ago...

Arriving in London, he rubbed the stubble that had grown and huffed out in annoyance. Wrapping a shabby scarf he had nicked while in Russia around his neck, he put on his "glasses" and quickly walked off in the direction that the flow of people were going.

Searching the rooftops, he finally found a CCTV camera, waved and pulled on a fake grin.

_ "I give him 5 minutes until he has a car for me"_ Sherlock thought to himself.

Walking along his thoughts turned to John.

_"John.." _

_ "Would he understand why I did it?" _

_ "Will he even welcome me back?" _

_ "Damn John, look at what you have reduced me to, emotions."_

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he realized that he was walking in the direction to Baker Street. Turning around, he picked up his pace and spotted a sleek, black car turn down the street. Sherlock walked into a nearby ally and waited.

Pulling in, the car rolled to a stop and the back door opened.

_"Really Mycroft? You seem to be getting slow brother dear."_

Rubbing his hair dry, he headed for the bed and slipped on a pair of clean boxers. He was not going to miss having to wear clothes he had exchanged with the many homeless he had encountered in the three years he was destroying the consulting criminal's web.

He still had the stubble but was ignoring Mycroft in favor of having to tell him everything that had happened. John was going to be the first person he was going to tell anything to.

Lying down on the bed that much too big for one person, his thoughts drifted back to how it all started.

To protect John.

_ "Goodbye John."_

Throwing the phone to the side, he kept his eyes on John and prayed, yes prayed, that everything would work out in the end. He sucked in a shaky breath, closed his eyes,

And fell.


	3. Chapter 3

The door swung open with a creak and stopped half way. John stared into the room and his heart ached. He missed his best friend.

Light from outside casted a soft orange glow into the room and his eyes swept over everything in Sherlock's room. The bed done, everything was exactly where Sherlock last put it. He always thought that his flat mate's room would be as chaotic as he mind, but it was neat and tidy.

John laughed, then he started to cry.

"Damn it Sherlock! Why did you leave me? You selfish bastard..."

John finally stepped into Sherlock's room, glancing around everywhere. The room had a slightly stale smell and whatever Sherlock smelt like was still in the room.

"I really hope you didn't have anything dead in here."

He felt that like Sherlock was going to walk in any moment and yell at him to get out. Wishful thinking.

John stopped at the side of his bed. He closed his eyes and touched the blankets lightly.

"You left me Sherlock. Alone. Without you. My best friend..."

John tightened his grip, and let the tears roll down. No sound came out but his body shook. Collecting himself after a while, he straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"You will always be my best friend and I will always remember you."

John released his hold and patted the bed fondly and turned to leave the room. Standing in the doorway, he glanced back and smiled sadly. He shut the door and went upstairs. He sat on his bed and turned on his phone. Scrolling through the contacts he stopped on Lestrade's number.

*Would you care for a pint after work on Friday? -John*

-MESSAGE SENT-

Putting the phone on his bedside table, he waited for his response. He didn't know if Lestrade would welcome his text or not. He knew his wasn't very welcoming to the Detective Inspector after Sherlock's death and regretted his actions.

* * *

-Greg Lestrade was sitting on his beat-up couch watching the telly when he heard his phone go off between the cushions. putting down his beer, he reached down between and felt around for his phone. "Bloody ridiculous couch." Grabbing the phone, he opened the message. A little bit surprised, he re-read the text and replied back for a few minutes.

*Absolutely John! Just, uh, we can go to that new pub down by where you are, alright. I'll call you tomorrow.*

-MESSAGE SENT-

As soon as the message was sent, he called Mycroft.

"Listen Mycroft, John sent me a text."

"Yes, Gregory is am well aware of it. Just got word that is has finally sent a text to someone what wasn't Sherlock's number.

"Um, right so. Just thought I should tell you. Him and I are going out for drinks Friday."

"Hm, thank you."

"Right…. Well, best be off now.."

Lestrade quickly ended the call and dropped his phone down.

"Bloody hell, that was awkward."

* * *

John received the text back but didn't answer. He really didn't want to go out but he knew he had to get himself back together.

He just hoped that he could.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So hopefully I can get more written, I just need to work out how I want this to end up, and maybe school can stop getting in the way... Here's to hoping! **

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Standing away from John in the graveyard, he stood a distance where he couldn't be seen but he overheard everything.

"You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um... there were times when i didn't even think you were _human, but let me tell you this: _You were the best man, and the most human... human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie... so there."

Sherlock watched as John walked closer to his headstone and lightly tops the top.

"I was so alone and I owe you so much."

A sharp ache in his chest, and with blurry vision he watched John walked away back to .

"Please forgive me John..."

Turning around,he walked further away from John and come up to Mycroft's car. Sliding in after the door opened, he sat in front of his brother and addressed him.

"If you wish to help me at all Mycroft, you will watch after John."

"He was a soldier Sherlock, I'm sure he can look after himself..." But with a sharp glare from his younger brother he continued," But as you wish. Survillence on Doctor John Waston will be increased."

Sherlock stared out the window and Mycroft thought that he was already finished with the conversation.

"Thank you" Sherlock whispered.

With a look of surpirse on his face, Mycroft opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't," Sherlock snapped, eyes staring out the tinted window, "Drop me off where ever you wish, I have a mission to start. Moriarty will not win, even if he did blow his brains out."

WIth a nod, Mycroft began to call his many contacts that will help Sherlock along the way.

Ignoring his brother sitting across from him, Sherlock's mind drifted off, hoping that John would understand why he had to do it. He was worried that it would take much longer then he had planned and John would move on and forget him. He didn't want that, but he wanted John, away from danger. He deserved a better life, but Sherlock would silently wish that he was involved somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I kind of like how this chapter turned out. Review are welcome! **

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John rolled over on his bed when he heard his phone going off. Throwing out his arm, he grabbed his phone. Sitting up, he rested his back against the headboard and answered.

"Er, hello."

"John, mate, you finally awake?"

"Lestrade? It's like 9 in the morning, what do you mean?"

"Uh, John, it's 2 in the afternoon, and I was wondering if I can go over in an hour?"

John glanced at his clock and sighed. Hell, it was 2.

"Um, yeah sure. I'll just go get ready then."

"Fantastic. See you in an hour."

John ended the call without a word bye. Groaning, he went to the bathroom. Turning on the water, he peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes and stepped under the spray. The hot water traveled down his back and he just stood there, preparing himself for actually interacting with another human, and that person being Lestrade. Pouring shampoo into his hand, he scrubbed his hair and washed his body. Rising it all away, he watched the bubbles go down the drain. Moving to turn off the water, he bumped again an old bottle and it clattered to the bottom of the tub. It was Sherlock's old shampoo bottle. John stared at it, then turned off the water, leaving it there. He wrapped a towel around his waist and looked at himself in the mirror. He flinched. He had a beard, sunken eyes, and his hair was much longer then he has ever had it before. Then anger overtook him. He punched the mirror.

"Fuck!"

Blood was running down his arm and shards of glass were stuck in his flesh.

"Fuck it all..."

Holding his hand close to his chest, he located the first-aid kit, grabbed the tweezers and pulled out the glass.

"Bloody hell, Lestrade is going to be here soon, going to think I'm trying to off myself."

With the last piece out, he ran the water and gingerly places his hand under. Hissing through his teeth, he heard voices downstairs. Quickly, he put everything away and rushed to his room, He grabbed whatever was on top in the dresser and slipped into his clothes. Heading back to the living room, there was a knock on the door. Sucking in a breath, he called out.

"Come in!"

Lestrade stepped in and looked around, avoiding JOhn for as long as he could.

"Hey mate," he finally looked at John and his eyes widened,"Just thought I'd pop by for a chat." He glanced down, "It's been a while." He added quietly.

John rubbed his face and winced when he remembered his hand was torn open and slightly bleeding.

"Yeah, yeah it has been... A year now..."

Gesturing towards the couch, "You can sit if you'd like, I'll make some tea yeah?"

Not bothering to hear a reply, John went into the kitchen and wrapped up his hand. He put on the kettle and stood with his hands gripping the counter, ignoring the pain shooting through his injured one. He was still mad at Lestrade for believing Donovan and Anderson, but he was also doing his job. He didn't move and waited for the kettle to boil.

Greg sat on the couch and pulled out his phone.

*Mycroft, he looks horrible.*

MESSAGE SENT

He picked at the cushion and looked around the room. Everything was the same. Sherlock's things were still there and none of it had been touched. Greg sighed sadly.

"John, what are you doing to yourself mate.."

His phone vibrated.

*Yes,it would seem that it would be that way. He did watch his best friend kill himself.*

*Mycroft, I don't like not being able to tell John that Sherlock is alive. The man is an utter wreak.*

MESSAGE SENT

*It is what is best for him Greg. Don't say anything, I'm not sure John or Sherlock will forgive you very easily.*

Lestrade let out a frustrated huff.

*And I do believe that the tea is ready.

"Bloody know-it-all."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: So sorry about the slow update! I have had terrible headaches lately and I just couldn't do much! Hope you are enjoying so far. Half was written when I was high on pain pills and the other half on my school bus at 7 in the morning! Reviews are greatly welcomed! Oh! there will be a flashback and it will be in bold and dialogue will be in bold italics. Okay on to the story! **

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****It had a year since Sherlock had "died", and 8 months since he had last spoken to Mycroft. He was just getting in the way. Know-it-all bugger. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed taking a long drag from his third cigarette.

_"John isn't going to be happy about this,"_ was his first thought. Then he roughly shook his head, remembering John thought he was dead and he wasn't at Baker Street.

_**"Sherlock, pay attention will you."**_

**Sherlock glared at his older brother. **

**_"You have my undivided attention brother dear."_**** he said with a tight smile.**

**Mycroft looked him over before continuing. **

_**"As you are well aware of, Moriarty's web is far-spread. And even with the man dead it is still strong enough to keep going." **_

**Sherlock nodded his head, indicating for him to go on. **

_**"Now, information has been found the he had a right-hand man so to speak." **_

**Mycroft seemed to produce a folder out of thin air. **

_**"His name is Sebastian Moran." **_

**Sherlock grabbed the man's information out of Mycroft's hands. **

**_"Ex-military man. Sniper. Dishonorably discharged for disclosed reasons. Could you not get that Mycroft?"_**** Sherlock smirked over the top of the papers." **

**Ignoring the jab, Mycroft carried on. **

**_"This,"_**** pulling out a photo from the file, ****_"Is the man who was ordered to shoot Dr. John if you weren't to throw yourself off." _**

**Sherlock's grip tightened. **

**Forcing his words out, ****_"I see."_**

Chasing after Moran was proving to he harder then he thought. The closer he seemed to getting the man, the farther ahead Moran would be and slip away. Half of the web was destroyed. The weakest of the web was easier to cut. The strands were beginning to break now. Sherlock rose to his feet, throwing the filter of the cigarette on the floor and paced back and forth, glancing out of the moth-bitten curtains occasionally.

_"Think, damn it, think!" _

Muttering to himself, he stopped midway through his tenth turn. Rushing out the door, he walked to the nearest market. Glancing around, he stood behind a man and stumbled forward as if drunk.

Slurring in Russian, _"Sorry there mate.." _

Stilling acting as if drunk, he stumbled away until the was out of sight of the confused man. Standing straight, he walked on and before turning into an ally way, he unwrapped the scarf and tied it around his neck.

_"I would be oh so very happy if you stopped following me." _

Turning around, he stared at the man who had been following him since he left his hotel room.

_"Just following orders sir."_

_"Yes, well tell your employer I'm doing fine on my own thank you." _

_"Oh no sir, I'm not here to help you. Just here to deliver this to you." _

He pulled out a yellow envelope and stepped forward.

_"No, don't move." _

The man stopped and stood where he was reaching out his hand that held the envelope. Looking behind the man, Sherlock walked over and pulled the envelope away.

_"You can go away now, your job has been fulfilled."_ He flicked his wrist towards the opening, now ignoring the suited man.

_"No can do sir, I am to stay here with you until you open it." _

With a low growl, he torn open the envelope and pulled out the contents.

It was a small picture.

Of John.

Smiling.

With a woman.

Hissing, _"Mycroft." _


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Alright, so I just wanted to add a little something that would be good for John in this chapter. I'll try and update faster also! **

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Going out with Greg turned out to be a weekly thing. Every Friday night they would go down to the same pub. At first, John was reluctant to talk much, but it didn't take long for him to open up again. The first time he had laughed in a long time was one Friday out.

oooOOOooo

It's John third beer and Lestrade is almost finished with his fifth. On the outs with the wife again, or soon to be ex-wife, going by this slightly slurred speeches.

_"I don't know what to do John.."_ Greg looks at John through the glass, _" You would think I would be fighting to save this marriage but no!"_ He waved his arms around a bit too enthusiastically._ "She's over staying with her sister while I'm at home just watching crap telly or coming out to the pub with you."_

John, not really knowing what to say, drains the last of his beer and stands up.

_"Look mate, I got to pop into the loo, so just stay here. I'll be back alright."_

He pats his shoulder, mouth twitching up a bit when his friends mumbles nonsense words to him.

John stood in front of the mirror and splashed some cold water on his face. Going out drinking every week is taking a toll on him.

_"Maybe we should start going to a café instead."_

Drying his face off, he threw the towel away and went back to his drunk friend. What John witnesses is one of the funniest things he has every seen, but he doesn't want to see it again in his life.

Greg Lestrade is trying to suck another man's face off. Going at it like a pair of teenagers, Jon is shocked in his spot.

Then he bursts out laughing.

_"Maybe that's why you don't care about your marriage mate!"_

Lestrade pulls back, lips swollen, hair a mess. He blushes slightly, or John thinks so. His face was flushed with heat to begin with.

_"Uh, John that you"_ He stumbled back on his stool.

Right, would probably be best to go home now, John thinks.

_"Come on, let's get you out of here, you're pissed."_ John moves over to the bartender and hands him what they owe.

_"Don't want to regret something in the morning."_ A full grin seems to be stuck on John's face.

He grips Greg's elbow and half-drags him outside. Throwing out his hand for a cab, he shoved his friend into the seats.

_"221B Baker Street please."_

OooOOOooo

Ever since that incident, they have gone to a small coffee shop. A nice young women seemed to always be working when John and Greg would go for their chats. After about the sixth time going in, John goes in by himself and strikes up a conversation with her. Lovely, and easygoing he founds that her name is Mary Morstan.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I am so sorry for the late update! I have been sick and then my router blew out so my internet is sketchy at best. The rating goes up to M now for mentions of drugs and prostitution. But the good stuff comes later(; **

**Again nothing belongs to me and feedback would be greatly welcomed! Maybe it will be the inspiration to get me writing more! **

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"So John is dating then."

'_Obviously_.' A little voice in the back of Sherlock's mind retorted.  
"He's moving on. Good... That's... good."  
_'You know you don't like it. You hate that John might be forgetting about you.'_ The voice whispered in his ear.  
"Shut up!" Sherlock snapped back.

Sherlock paced back and forth in his new hotel room. He had left Russia and was now in France. Moran's movements seemed to be leading him back to Spain but he was unsure.

Unsure, yes he was unsure. His thoughts kept on going back to John. John and the smiling woman. God how he hated her. He had stared at the same small piece of glossy paper and he could have told you exactly where the salt and pepper shakers were positioned John was sitting close to the woman,_ Mary_, by the name written on the back. But his body was tense by the clenching of his hand and his body was turned 5 inches away from her.

"Not very serious then."  
_'But it will be, you can see it in his eyes. Look at how his face is lit up and he is laughing, without you.'_  
"Stop. Stop it!"  
Sherlock ripped the photo in half and threw it on the floor. Muttering to himself, "I knew this could happen. I had planned on it."  
The voice whispered in his ear again, _'Then why does it hurt?'_ It mocked him, _'If you planned on it, then why can't you stand to think about it? I can see inside your head Sherlock Holmes.'_  
Sherlock shook his head. 'John was always there for you, but you left him. Now he is going to move on. Forget you. He will begin a family with Mary. And never love you.'

Sherlock screamed out in frustration.  
"SHUT UP!"  
Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he went out into the town. It wasn't hard finding the "bad" part of town. Night had fallen hours ago. The women who sold themselves for money. The men who supplied the antidote for the voice in his head, the thoughts that would never seem to stop, they were all out owning the night.

"Hey baby, you want to have a good time tonight?" A woman with red hair, dyed obviously, and a dress, 3 sizes too small, called out to him. He stopped in front of her and looked her over.  
"You are about 27 but your body is crammed into that dress to make you look 25. You have an American accent, but have some French underlying. Student, or rather you were a student until you couldn't pay anymore. You didn't want to get help from family, so you turned to prostitution after several failed attempts at an real job. Heroin addict by the track marks on your arms and you use cocaine by your blown pupils. So, no I don't imagine that it would be a good time with you."

The woman stood shocked, but then her face twisted with anger. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are mister!? You may look like a hot piece of ass, but you are here in this part for a reason, so don't talk to me like you are better than me!"

"I know practically everything about you from just a glance. So, yes I am better than you." Sherlock smirked and walked away, leaving the woman gaping at his back.  
He continued down the street and turned off into a back ally. Knocking on a door that was hidden behind a dumpster and decaying trash. A sliding panel opened on the door.  
"Name?" A gruff voice asked.

"John Smith."

The panel closed and the door opened, light flooding into the small space. A burly man stepped aside and gestured in.  
Sherlock walked passed him and continued down the dimly lit hallway, stopping at the last door on the left. Bursting in, a small woman shrieked and stood up, blocking the man behind her.

"Out."

She stared wide-eyed at Sherlock then to the man on the couch.

"I said get out."

The man on the couch flicked his wrist, "Go, we can finish this later." The woman rushed past Sherlock, avoiding his eyes.

"Don't you know it's rude to interrupt Sherlock?"

Sherlock ignored the question and kept near the door.

"Victor. I need it. Now."

"My, my Sherlock. Word is that you have been clean for 5 years now. Why the sudden change of heart?" The last word dripped with sarcasm.

Sherlock sniffed and turned his head.

"If you would kindly put away your cock, I would rather not have it out."

Victor smirked and put himself back into his pants, pulling up his trousers and zipped up.

"Never seemed to bother you before Sherly."

Sherlock's body tensed," That was years ago, in Uni." Sherlock turned his head back to Victor. "And don't call me Sherly."

"Yet, here you are." Victor stood up, brushing himself off.

"Tell me Sherlock, if I give you any, what do I get in return?"

Sherlock felt his eyes rake over his body. Stepping forward, he stopped inches from Victor's face.

"The satisfaction that my brother has yet to put you away. Now," he took a step back and held out his hand, "If you will."  
Victor's lips pulled back into a snarl. "Yes, your darling brother." He reached into a black bag on the couch and pulled out a small bag with a needle inside. "Should we do some together? Just like old times Sherly?"  
Sherlock growled and snatched the bag out of Victor's hand.  
"Don't call me Sherly." He slipped the bag into his coat pocket and turned to leave. Halfway through the door Victor called out, "Oh, Sherly love, I heard you have a new 'flatmate.' John is his name isn't? John Watson? I'm sure he not very fond of your little idea right now. But, then again, he's not here with you is he." Sherlock froze and closed his eyes, his chest tightening.  
He continued out, feeling Victor's eyes follow him the entire way out.

Once outside, he hurried back to the hotel. Avoiding anybody in the lobby,he opened his unlocked door. Shutting it and with a twist to the right he locked it. He threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The presence of the drug heavy in his pocket. His mind yelling at him to do it, to stop the nagging voices. But John's disappointed face was burned into his eyelids, looking at him every time he closed his eyes.

Suddenly his phone vibrated in his pocket. Knowing Mycroft never called, he fished it out and answered.  
"What?" He snapped.  
"Moran has moved. I have been informed that he is planning to return to London tomorrow."  
Sherlock bolted up off the bed.  
"Are you positive Mycroft?"  
"I am very reliably informed brother. It would be best if you returned to London immediately."  
"Of course I'm going back to..." Sherlock's voice faltered. London. Bakerstreet. John.

He was going back to John. To save him.

"Now, I am leaving now."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I am so so sorry for the very late update! I had huge writer's block and then I went on vacation to California for a week! Hopefully I can get more chapters up sooner and I may post new stories if you are following me to fill in the gaps between the chapters in this fic. I hope I am getting the time dates right and that everything is making sense. In a few chapters, hopefully Sherlock and John finally reunite! Reviews and tips are much much welcome! **

_**I own nothing but the story. Characters go to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. **_

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It had been 3 months since John had decided to stop going to the pub every Friday with Lestrade, who seems to have no memory of the intense make out session but blushed deeply anytime John would bring it up. The little cafe that they had been going to was cozy. The mixed smell of coffee and baked goods was a nice change from beer and sweat soaked clothes. The sweet waitress, Mary, had been easy to talk to once John finally did.

On his lunch breaks, he would go by and have chats with her.

"John!" She smiles from behind the counter, "the usual?"

"Make it a blueberry muffin this time." John walks to his usual booth by the front window. Nobody else was in and it would be that way for another half hour. Perfect amount of time for him to just relax and talk with Mary.

"Here you go. Coffee, black with two sugars." She sets it down and moves to sit opposite of him in the booth. "And one fresh blueberry muffin."

"Thanks Mary." John reaches for the muffin and pulls off the wrapper, sliding it over for Mary to take a piece.

She smiles in thanks and takes off a small chuck from the top.

John grabs the steaming mug and takes a sip.

"Why do you always order that if you never drink it all?" Mary's voice registers in his mind.

"I... um... what?" Confused he wraps both hands around the mug and sets it down, not letting go.

Mary's eyes searches his face before answering. "You always order a cup of coffee. Black with two sugars, but you never take more then maybe 3 sips." She pauses before she continues. "And you have such a sad look on your face."

"No I don't." John mumbles.

She gives a soft laugh, " Yes you do love."

John sits back and sighs. Mary waits patiently, watching John's emotions flick across his face.

"It's um.. a long story and I don't really want to talk about it right now.." John blinks multiple times and clears his throat.

Mary sits quietly and nods her head. "Okay, but you do know if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you love." She grabs his hand and his it a slight squeeze. John just stares out the window.

"Right now," Mary stands up, "it's almost time for you to go back to work John."

He barely nods his head and continues to stare out the window. Mary walks back behind the counter and watches John with concerned eyes. Soon a costumer walks in and she heads to the back to get more scones. When she returns John is gone.

ooooOOOOOooooo

Shutting the door behind him, he toes off his shoes and heads for the bathroom. Moving with sore muscles, he turns on the water as cold as it can get and peels off his sweat-stained clothes. Stepping in, he flinches when the icy water touches his skin but he goes under anyways. Standing there, letting the water run down his body, he can't hear the sound of his phone going off in the living room.

* * *

**AN: Again sorry! I am going to make John and Mary's relationship more clear in fillers or later on in the story. **


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Wow, okay so sorry for the very late update. I didn't really know how I was going to continue from the last chapter but I think I have it now. Hopefully in the next 2 or 3 chapters a John and Sherlock reunion will happen, who knows?**

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"Pick up your bloody phone John!" Greg tightened his grip on the steering wheel before pulling a sharp left turn, tires squealing in protest. His phone goes off in his hand.

"Mycroft, what in the hell is going on!?"

"Sherlock has been informed of Moran's movements. He should reach Moran before his plane lands in Paris to fly over to London."

"But, why now? Why head back to London after months of moving away from here?" He pulls another left, 5 minutes from Baker Street.

"It would seem that Sherlock made his presence known to an old... friend, in France."

Greg jaw clenched. "That idiot. That stupid fucking idiot, after all this time to being careful, he mucks it up now. Wonderful."

"Now is not the time Greg. Hurry to Baker Street and insure Doctor Watson's safety. He has to allow you to stay with him for several days, a week at the most."

"Yeah, yeah I got it. I'm not a child..." Lestrade pauses before continuing, "It's... it's going to be a rough next few weeks isn't it?"

Silence went through the phone before Mycroft answered softly, "Yes, I believe it will be. For everybody."

Greg pulls along the curb, car idle. "I, god, okay. I'll call you later or call me if anything happens yeah?"

"Of course Gregory. Watch Doctor Watson carefully."

Click.

Bloody Mycroft...

Greg pockets his phone and steps out, looking at 221B.

Damn.

He knocks rapidly, hoping is in.

"Detective Inspector, come in, come in." She smiles brightly and ushers him inside. "John is just upstairs, arrived not 30 minutes ago actually. Bit earlier than usual but you never know with a doctor's schedule."

"Yes, thank you , I'll just head on up then." Going up the seventeen steps, he opens the door to the living room, calling out John's name.

"John, mate, where are yo-.."

"I, uh.." Greg blushes slightly, his eyes darting everywhere but John. "You're, um, only wearing... pants..."

Shocked, with his towels wrapped around his head, John sputters out, "Yeah, well, I didn't really think you or anyone for that matter would come barging into my bloody flat now did I!"

Greg looks up above John's head, "I did, uh, try calling you , but I guess you were in the shower..." His voice trailing off.


	11. Chapter 11

Now fully clothed and dry, John joins Lestrade, a mug of hot tea in each hand.

"Here."

"Thanks John."

"No problem." He takes a small sip and sits on couch next to his friend. "Now, why in hell did you decide to suddenly barge into my flat?" He watches Lestrade stare into his tea as if it held the answers to everything.

"I… uh," Lestrade clears his throat, "It's Jenny.. She… She left me…" His finger rubs against the side of the mug before he looks up at John. "Officially that is." He laughs sadly.

"Oh Greg, I'm sorry. I thought, I thought you two worked it out…?"

Lestrade shugs, "There really wasn't much to work out. We just didn't click anymore you know? It's been years in the work now but I guess… I guess it became too much for her. To look at me and know we didn't love each other anymore."

"I, god, I'm so sorry Greg. Is there any way I can help?"

Lestrade silently thanked whoever was the cause for John to be so damn giving. And patient.

"Yeah, that's why I'm here actually. Thought it would be better to ask in person than over the phone." He finally sets down his mug and turns to face John.

"Just go ahead and ask Greg, there's no need to look like the world is going to end."

'_Oh John, you have no idea.' _

"Can… can I stay with you for a while? Just until I get myself a new place and everything. I can sleep on the couch, help out with rent, all of that…"

"Jesus, of course you can! It's the least I can do for you Greg after you help me this past year. I owe you so much mate, this is the no problem at all."

At hearing John's heartfelt words, Lestrade's stomach clenches painfully.

John continued on, unaware of his friend's internal pain, "And you don't have to sleep on the couch Greg, just take the room upstairs."

"Your room?"

"Yes, is that a problem?"

"Uh, no, thanks John."

After several beers after the attempt at tea, Lestrade watches his friend stand up and head for the kitchen.

"You sure you want me to take your room John?" He shifts his weight, hands gripping his suitcases that were brought up after the third beer. He sways slightly.

"It's fine Greg, just go upstairs and get comfortable, I'll make tea while you get settled." His voice is firm.

"Right, fine then, okay." The stairs leading up groan from the weight of Lestrade and his belongings, reaching the top, a sliver of weak light shines through the crack of the door. Pushing it open with his foot, it swings open. Lestrade lets out a gush of air. "Oh John.." The bed is neat and made, seemingly unused for quite a while. The air is chill and musty, no sign of John staying in the room for longer than needed. The room looks as if it has been devoid of human life for months. The only signs of someone ever living here were random pieces of clothing or scrapes of paper lying about.

Lestrade sets his things on the bed and sits beside them, "John, I am so sorry."

John is leaning against the counter on his third cuppa. "So, do you want to, I don't know head out to the pub or something?"

Remembering Mycroft's words, Lestrade shakes his head quickly. "No, no. Why don't we just pop in a movie or watch some crap telly and drink some beers here instead. I, uh, really don't want to go out yet…"

"Sure! Okay, so what do you have in mind?" Before Lestrade can answer, John throws up his hand, "Wait, no, I know just the movie. Hold on." John walks out of the kitchen and heads to a shelf that holds the few movies he owns among medical books and magazines. Eyes scanning, he spots the movie in question, "Ah-ha!", with an air of triumphant he slides it out and stops the door showing the movie to Lestrade. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles, "Really John, Monty Python and the Holy Grail?"

"Oi! It's a classic mate!"

Lestrade laughs while a small smile plays on John's lips.

"Okay, okay. Bring it on Sir John."


End file.
